


Mimicry

by WhatLocked



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Attempted/Intended Sexual Abuse, M/M, POV Clive Ogden, Physical Abuse, beatings, drug references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In nature Aggressive Mimicry is the act of a predator resembling a safe species to appear harmless and unassuming.<br/>John Watson has always had to make himself look small and unassuming.  Invisible.  This habit was adopted as a result when he was expelled from his second school after getting into, and winning, a fight with the local bully who targeted him for being poor from a broken home with a lesbian sister and an alcoholic mother.<br/>He looks like a harmless little doctor.  This leans for false assumptions that he is a harmless little doctor.</p><p>It is a lie.</p><p>When a harmless species resembles itself to look harmful to predators in the plant and animal kingdoms, it is called Batesian Mimicry.<br/>Sherlock looks sharp, cool, abrasive and acts as if he doesn’t care what others think. This was a persona formed in high school to distance himself and to stop others from hurting him for being different.<br/>He is happy to tell everyone that caring is not an advantage and that alone protects him.  It fits with the claims that he is a high-functioning sociopath.</p><p>That is a lie.</p><p>This story is from the point of view of a man who made the mistake of thinking they were the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mimicry

**Author's Note:**

> The good thing about suffering from writer's block, when working on one fiction, is that you often get inspiration for another story, and hence, you have this little piece to read. Hope you enjoy, and as always, comments, kudos and con-crit are muchly welcomed and cherished.
> 
> NTW

~~~~~~~~~~

Boss has been watching these two for a while now.  Well, he has been getting me and Lipkin to keep an eye on them, but he has definitely had an interest in the odd pair and by interest I mean, they have been irritating him for a while.  

He knows one of them personally - the tall posh looking one going by the name of Sherlock Holmes.  Apparently he had once been a customer of the Boss’, a long time back.  Said he was a weird one, and apparently had a mouth on him.  Knowing the Boss, that could mean one of two things and neither one is worth looking too much into.  Not if I don’t want to find myself at the bottom of the Thames wearing nothing but a rock chained to my legs.

The other one, we don’t know much about.  His name is John Watson and he seems to be rather ordinary looking.  Going by his blog he practically worships Holmes and follows the other man along when they go out on cases.  If what the Boss says has any truths to it than the worship is one sided because apparently Holmes doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself.  When John isn’t chasing after Holmes he seems to work down at the doctors surgery two blocks away from their flat on Baker Street. 

And all had been fine and merry for the past two and a half months.  Lipkin and me had been getting paid good money to watch after these two and it had been easy money, but then they had gone and helped the cops bust the wrong supplier.  A supplier that may or may not lead them to someone else that would most definitely give too much away concerning the Boss’ involvement in not only the manufacturing and selling of drugs, but also the sale of supplies of a more living nature; namely women and children if the customer was offering the right price.  So now that they had meddled where they shouldn’t have meddled it had been up to us to get the pair and bring them back to the warehouse in Harringay for questioning about what they knew and what further plans there were in relations to Boss’ set-up.   
I’ll tell you now.  It hadn’t been as hard as I thought it would have been.  I was expecting a full on fight, maybe having to shed a bit of blood but the doctor, the soft-cock that he is, saw me fallen over and apparently bleeding in the alley way on his way home from work and when he had bent down to help it had been a simple case of reaching up and sticking the hypodermic into his neck and pushing the plunger.  He had barely made it to the end of the alley way before dropping and that is when Lipkin showed up in the car to help me bundle him into the boot with an as equally unconscious Sherlock Holmes, but not before giving him a good kick to the ribs, just to make sure.  Judging by Lipkins black eye and split lip, Holmes hadn’t been as accommodating as the doctor.

Now, here they are, the two of them, handcuffed to two seperate chairs, six feet away from each other, in the storeroom of the warehouse and Holmes is starting to stir.

As he blinks his eyes and gives an almost unnoticeable shake of his head, trying to throw the aftereffects of the drug, Lipkin walks up to him as slaps him, hard across the face.  A small cry leaves his mouth, more out of surprise than pain and as he straightens his head up he glares at Lipkin.  The effects of the drugs still in his system no way lessen the intensity of that glare.  Looks like this one will be fun.  The cocky bastards are always the most fun to break.

The Boss had told us to work Holmes over for two reasons.  The first one was if we wanted him to talk then trying to do so by abusing his partner would be of no use.  Holmes wouldn’t care that someone else was getting hurt.  If he didn’t want to talk, then that was not the way to get information.  The way to get information was to hurt Holmes to get Watson to blurt.  After all, you only had to read his little blog to see that he would do anything for the man.  It was fucking pathetic.

The second reason was that Holmes was apparently sneaky and clever so in order to stop him from getting the upper hand we needed to take away the ability to do so.  This meant beating him to the point that he couldn’t move a finger, let alone get out of his restraints.  The other one was harmless.  He had hardly even struggled when I was pushing the needle into his neck.

“So I guess I was right in assuming that Jason was in charge of the Ilford set-up.”  This just earned him another slap across the face.  How the fuck could he know about the Boss’ involvement in that haul?  I could feel my fingers itching to have my turn at him.  But to be honest it would be pointless to do too much damage before the doctor woke up as it was him that was going to blab everything we needed to know in the end anyway, in order to get us to stop hurting his precious detective.  My resolve to stay non participating for the moment almost snapped when the prick next spoke.

“Thank you for confirming that yes, it was indeed Jason” he answered after running his tongue along his teeth, looking for any obvious damage.

“You shut the fuck up pretty boy” Lipkin snarled, yanking the man’s head back by his hair so he was staring up at Lipkins sneering face and probably coping a whiff of the bastards god awful breath.  Mickey Lipkin is a man that I trust with my life but would it kill him to actually use a toothbrush once in a while?  “When we want to hear your posh fucking voice we’ll ask you questions, clear?”  Holmes just looked up at Lipkin, one eyebrow cocked, the other in a frown.  Apparently he wasn’t scared of Lipkin at all and that was saying something because Lipkin was a scary looking bastard, what with his scarred face, squinty eyes and big bulking frame.  The dirty gold teeth he had didn’t make things any better, nor did the myriad of tattoos that littered what could be seen on his skin.

“Tell your boss that his standards have gone down quite a bit if he is sending the likes of you to do his dirty work” the man drawls, uncaring of Lipkin’s previous comment and I grin as his jibe gets him a rather solid punch to the stomach.

“You can tell him yourself, when he comes to pay you and your little friend a visit later” Lipkin gloats over Holmes’ groan of pain and it is then that I hear the shorter one starting to stir behind me.  Until Lipkin’s mention of him a few seconds ago he hasn’t been acknowledge once, not even by his supposed friend.  Boss must have been right - the prick don’t give a fuck about no one but himself.

“Would you look at that, your little friend is waking up” Lipkin taunts, stepping around behind Holmes.  Slowly the doctor comes to, his face scrunching up as he slowly blinks his eyes open.  It takes him a few moments to realise that he is chained up in an unknown location, and a few more seconds to realise that his friend is in the exact same predicament.

“Sh’lock” he slurs, still trying to snap out of his drug induced haze.

The detective says nothing as Lipkin brings his hands up to either side of his face, placing his fingers along his cheeks and his thumbs in along the bottom of his eyes.  

“Now, boys” Lipkin sneers.  “We’ve got some questions for you and you are going to answer before our Boss arrives, understood?”

There is no answer from Holmes, but the doctor suddenly sobers up a lot more.  “Fuck you” he spits as he tries to pull away from his bonds.

“ _Tsk, tsk._   Wrong answer” Lipkin says in mock disappointment and then he pushes his thumbs into Holmes’ orbital rim.  Holmes tries to pull his head away but Lipkins hands are large and strong.  They hold him in place as he applies more and more pressure, eventually causing the man under his grasp to cry out.  This infuriates the smaller man across the room who suddenly starts thrashing against the cuffs that are holding him in place, a string of fairly impressive swear words leaving his mouth as he struggles.

After a few seconds Lipkin reduces the pressure being applied to Holmes’ face and both men stop thrashing.  Holmes’ eyes are already red and puffy, the left one starting to bruise already, where Lipkins thumb had pushed against the bone.

“Lets try this again” Lipkin explains carefully, like he is talking to a couple of kids.  “I am going to ask you questions and you are going to give me answers” he says, looking directly at John, while he gently rocks Holmes’ head from side to side.  “If you don’t answer, I hurt him and each time that I hurt him it is going to get worse and worse.  Understand?”

This time it is Holmes who utters the “Fuck you.”

Lipkin lets out a disappointed sigh.  “Seems that the message still isn’t sinking in.”  Without any warning he replaces his thumbs with his index fingers and places his thumbs behind Holmes’s ears and then he squeezes, hard.  The sound that leaves Holmes’ mouth is loud as pressure is being exerted to four seperate points on his head.

“Stop that right now, you piece of shit” John calls out as he tries, once again to pull away from his restraints.  This only results in him toppling himself over.  “I swear to god, you will regret any damage you inflict on him.”  The man is livid, obviously not caring that he is on the floor, unable to move due to being chained to a chair.  It is like watching a turtle on its back.  A very angry little turtle.

“Ogden, shut him up, will ya” Lipkin orders, letting go of Holmes’ face.  

“Gladly” I reply, walking over and giving the doctor a swift kick to the stomach.  He shuts up as he tries to get his breath back.

“Now” Lipkin says, walking over to the bench that runs along the back wall.  “Let’s give this one more try, shall we?” and he comes back to Holmes with a great big knife in his hand.

Standing in front of Holmes, with his back to me and John, Lipkin gets to work.  We can’t see what he is doing but going by the sounds we can hear, Holmes’ posh little shirt is being cut away.  This is confirmed, not only by the dirty white material falling to the ground, but also by the bare chest that is exposed as Lipkin steps away.

“We need to know what Kinsey told the cops when he got busted at Ilford.  Names, places, dates.  We know you both sat in on the interrogation with him and we want to know what you now know.”

“Jason feeling a bit worried?” Holmes gloats.  He is actually gloating.  The bastard has just had his face squashed and now has a huge fucking knife pushed up against his chest and he is taunting the man with the knife.  The man with that huge knife suddenly moves very quickly.  With a sharp cry of pain, Holmes has a small slice, just under his neck where both sides of his collar bone met.  Right where sweat often gathers.  Working quickly, yet efficiently, Lipkin also lifts up the man’s arms, as much as possible while cuffed to a chair, and cuts into the skin under the arms and then in the crook of his elbows.

John, apparently recovering from the blow to his stomach, is yelling again.  “You fucker” he spits, trying desperately to gain some purchase on the floor so he can get himself the right way up and not succeeding.  “I will get out of this and I will fucking kill you if you lay one more finger on him.”

Lipkin pays the smaller man no attention and instead does a slow lap around Holmes, looking his body over as if to ascertain where to strike next.  “I don’t think I like your attitude towards the Boss” Lipkin drawls lazily.  

“Your boss is a fucking cowardly wanker” John spits, earning him another kick from me, this one landing against his ribs.  This causes him to curl up as much as his restraints allow him, groaning in pain.

“Tell you boss that if he wants to know what was said in that interview then he will have to ask Kinsey himself” Holmes says once John stops groaning.  I am happy to note that his voice is a bit slower and his words not quite as rounded as they were before.

His comment lands him another blow, this time from the back of Lipkins hand, splitting his lip and darkening the bruise that is already forming on his eye.

“Mr Holmes, I really don’t think that you are in any position to give us attitude” Lipkin snarls, yanking Holmes hair again so he looks up at him and Holmes actually grins up at him, his teeth bloody from the blood dripping from his split lip.  The fucking nerve of him.  

“You are under the impression that we care what you think” Holmes tells Lipkin and Lipkin lets go of Holmes head, pushing it back in the process.

“It appears that you still don’t understand” Lipkin says walking behind Holmes, the frustration and anger over their lack of cooperation evident in his tone.  “We are in charge here.  You do what we say.”

“Hardly” John snaps.  This earns him a glare from Lipkin as he settles directly behind Holmes.

“I don’t know what it will take for you to learn that unless you have something useful for us then you need to keep your little trap shut” Lipkin tells John, doing something behind Holmes’ back.  “Maybe this will be it” and then the room is filled with a loud, mournful cry of pain as the sound of Holmes’ finger being snapped reaches our ears.

“And until you learn that lesson, you little fucking shit, it will continue.”  Another cry, this one not as loud, sounds out as yet another finger is broken and a stream of fresh vitriol leaves Johns mouth as he kicks out his legs.

Eventually the noise in the room dies down and all that can be heard is the laboured breathing of both men.

“Pick the small one up” comes a voice from behind me.  I turn to see Boss standing in the door way, looking down at John, still bundled up on the floor.  Quickly I march over and, with a bit of a struggle, right his chair the right way, narrowly missing being bitten by the man as my hand gets too close to his mouth.

Once John is the right way up Boss saunters into the room, looking rather pleased with all that he is observing, especially as his gaze lingers on Holmes’ bloody and pale face.

“Sherlock” he greets, stopping in front of the still heaving man.  Holmes attempts to look up, but his head only stays up for a few brief seconds before flopping forward again. 

“Jason” he returns but his voice has lost any trace of its former arrogance, now just sounding strained and hoarse, not much louder than a whisper.  

“It’s been a long time” Boss says and his fingers ghost over Holmes’ hair.  Holmes either doesn’t notice or is to exhausted to respond.  “I see, though, that you are just as uncooperative as ever.”

The proceeding answer is John snarling, “If you lay one more finger on him I swear, when I am out of these restraints, I will kill you.”

Boss slowly turns his gaze to John, a look of slight amusement dancing in his eyes.  “Ah, the tag along” he says, his eyes doing a once over on the man.  John practically snarls in his direction, his teeth bared in a vicious sort of demented smile.

“You seem so hell bent on getting us to stop hurting Sherlock here, yet you refuse to give us the answers we are seeking.  If you had just given them when we asked, this could all be over by now.”

“Johnnn” Holmes slurs, his head lolling to the side as he tries to look across the room to the other man.

“You wanna know what Kinsey said?”  Johns voice was low and dangerous as he ignored his friends call, but ineffective seeing as he was chained up and we weren’t.  “He ratted on you, straight out.  Told the cops everything.  Folded like a cheap fucking suit.  The cops are organising a bust as we speak you worthless piece of shit.”

For a moment I am terrified.  That was almost a week ago.  If the cops really are planning on busting us we have to move and move now.  My fear diminishes as I see the very amused grin spread across Boss’ face.

“No, I don’t think so” Boss says to John as his hand reaches over to card through Holmes’ hair again and just the sight of it causes the smaller man to bristle.  “If that was going to happen, it would have done so by now.  You and Sherlock here are well and truely on your own.  There is no one coming for me.  At least, not until they get to whoever Kinsey was bound to rat on, and knowing that weasel like I do, I know that he would have dropped at least one name.  Not mine.  He knows nothing of my involvement, but I’d like to eliminate the ones he does know of, so, tell me who they were or I will let Mickey here” and at this his hand leave Holmes’ hair and gestures towards Lipkin, “Continue his work over on your friend.”

Suddenly all of us turn our focus onto Holmes as a slow, but deep laugh sounds through out the room, coming from him.

“Something you would like to share, Sherlock?” Boss asks, apparently no longer finding things amusing.

“Just that you are a bigger moron than I originally thought.”

Suddenly Holmes’ head is wrenched back again.  “You’re going to regret that” Lipkin snarls and brings his mouth down to the side of Holmes’s neck, where it meets the shoulder, and bites down.  Again Holmes starts thrashing, trying to pull away as something almost resembling a scream leaves his mouth and blood starts to trickle down his chest.

More swearing and yelling can be heard from behind us but we don’t turn our attention to John, as we watch Lipkin then make another bite, just a little bit further over.  It is only when we hear  the sound of something scraping over concrete that we turn to look at John, only to see him trying to stand up and failing, falling back, pushing his chair further away from Holmes.  When it is clear that he is getting nowhere we turn back to Holmes.  His skin, which was pale to start with, has taken on an ashen grey colour and he can’t hold his head up at all.  His body is covered in cuts and scrapes, is bruised and bloodied, a far cry from the impeccably dressed man we had been observing these past few months.

“That’s enough, Mickey” Boss says and Lipkin steps away from Holmes.

Boss steps up to Holmes and places his hand under the man’s chin and raises his head.  “It is almost unfair that after all of this time, you still look the same” Boss says, slowly turning Holmes’ face one way and then the other and John yells, “Get away from him” but it is ignored.

“Those eyes, those cheekbones…that mouth.  I remember what that mouth of yours was capable of” the Boss muses as he holds Holmes’ chin, firmer in his hand, forcing him to look up, but Holmes can hardly keep the one eye that isn’t swollen shut, open.  “I bet you’ve only gotten better over time.”

“Don’t you fucking touch him, you fucking piece of shit” John spits from behind us and I waste no time in turning around and back handing him across the mouth to shut him up.  This surprises us all by pulling a small pained noise from Holmes.

“What was that?” Boss says almost gleefully.  Holmes mutters something that I can’t discern from where I am standing next to John but it causes Boss to throw his head back in laughter.  “Sherlock Holmes has fallen to sentimentality.  How priceless” and he lets go of Holmes’ chin, causing the other mans head to flop back down.  “Then you will enjoy what I have in store for you then.  Bringing back fond memories, you might say, and then, when I’m finished, I might just let my boys here form new ones.”

This wouldn’t be the first time Boss has offered us a taste of the wares  - a bit of incentive to keep us loyal and all that and it is always greatly appreciated.  I don’t normally go for guys but this one sure does have a set of plush lips.  You’d have to be right straight to not want those things wrapped around your cock and I realised a long time ago that under the right circumstances I could be swayed to bend a bit.  

“I swear to god, if you fucking lay one more finger on himI will fucking kill you” comes the snarl from behind us and again, I turn to the man, thrashing, trying painfully hard to get out of his bonds, and smack him across the face, this time hard enough to topple his chair over again and again a cry comes out of Holmes’ mouth, something that resembles _John,_ but it has hard to tell with his bottom lip puffed up and bleeding.  Apparently we were mistaken after all in thinking that Holmes wouldn’t spill the beans if we had laid into his little friend.

“Maybe when they have finished with you, my boys here would then like a turn with your little friend” Boss tells Holmes genially an I see Lipkin light up at the idea.  He always did like a good piece of arse and he was never fussed on what set of genitals were attached to the other side.

“Mickey, if you would be so kind here to go and fetch the taser” Boss says to Lipkin, but not moving his gaze away from their hostage.  “If Sherlock here needs some incentive to cooperate then you may get to use it on his little friend over there” and Boss’s head nudges in the direction of where John Watson lays, not moving since he toppled over.  Must have hit his head on the way down and rendered himself unconscious.  Lipkin nods and heads out of the room.

“Clive” Boss says, drawing my attention away from the door where Lipkin just left.  “If you would be so kind as to hold Sherlocks head in place for me.  It seems we may have worked him over just a bit too much.”

“Gladly” I reply and move to position myself behind Holmes, holding each of his cheeks in my hands, an almost replica of the way Lipkin had held his face earlier in these proceedings, and angling his head up until Boss indicates that it is at the perfect height. 

“I’d like to say that you and your friend would bring me quite the pretty penny if I were to put you up for sale, but I know you Sherlock” Boss says as he runs his hands soothingly through Holmes’ hair.  Holmes tries to flinch away but he is weak and I am holding him tight.  “You would get away and then cause me all sorts of trouble, so I will have to kill you once we have finished with you and just sell off Dr Watson on his own.”

Holmes opens his mouth to say something but he doesn’t get any further than “Fu…” before he receives a rather vicious tug to his hair, courtesy of the Boss, causing him to cry out in pain.

“No more talking, Sherlock.  Its time to put that mouth of yours to good use” and with that he unzips his trousers and pulls himself out of his pants.  From somewhere out of the blue Holmes finds an extra burst of adrenaline as suddenly he starts thrashing and bucking and trying to pull his head away.    Eventually we get him still again and Boss grabs himself and then pushes the tip of his cock against Holmes’s lips.  

“Open up or we will kill the doctor” I snarl, looking down at where skin meets skin, but the bastard keeps his lips clamped shut. “I said, open…”  
I stop when I hear a sickening sort of bone-crunching crack and look up just in time to see Boss being pushed over to the side, his head hanging limply on his neck and a furious looking John Watson, cuffed hands somehow in front of him, glaring at me with a murderous rage in his eyes.

“How the fuck…” I manage to get out and then he lunges for me.  I  step back out of the way, letting go of Holmes’ head and avoiding the attack from Watson in the process.  As I circle around the room, keeping clear of the raging ball of fury, I see that part of the doctors chair has been pulled apart, a solitary screw laying on the ground.  The bastard hadn’t been unconscious after all.  He had been unscrewing the back of the chair in order to get his cuffed hands free.  God only knows how he managed that and getting his hands in front of him without us knowing, but he had managed it and managed to snap Boss’ neck afterwards.

“I told you not to hurt him” John growls.  “I told you, that if you laid one more finger on him then I would kill you, you fucking piece of vermin” and he stalks towards me.  I am not game enough to take my eyes off of the man.  Beaten and bloodied with his hands cuffed in front of him and John Watson looks more terrifying than any thug I have ever had the pleasure of working with.  I step back and find myself up against the old hot water system.  Practically trapped.

“You should have listened” he snarls and then lunges again.  I wait for the blow to come, but he is suddenly pulled back and there is Lipkin, throwing him to the floor.  

“What the fuck is going on here” Lipkin roars, looking from John to the Boss on the floor and then back to John.  I don’t get a chance to answer as John is suddenly launching himself up off of the floor and surging towards Lipkin who draws his great big bloody knife out of his back of his trousers.  The scuffle doesn’t take long before he has tackled John back down to the floor.  I watch as the two of them lay still for a moment and I go to pull Lipkin off of John when there is movement, but it isn’t the movement I was hoping for.  Lipkin’s body gets rolled off of the doctors body, his knife sticking out of his chest, the angle indicating it had entered straight into his heart.  

It is now that I see our second mistake.  The danger was never with Holmes.  It was always with the doctor.  The small safe looking one.  It had been a trick all along, to make us ignore the threat that was right before our eyes, as even with his hands cuffed together and suffering from the few blows that we had thrown his way, John Watson still managed to take Lipkin, a man twice his size, down, the knife that was in his hands now embedded in his chest, as well as leaving the Boss, also a man of no small stature, laying dead on the ground with a broken neck.  A small scrawny guy like myself would have no chance in hell of surviving once John Watson got his hands on me.

I don’t have a chance to run.  I barely have a chance to realise that he has finished with Lipkin before he is standing before me and the last thing I see before pain seers in the back of my head and the world blacks out is the rage and power in the eyes of the man we all assumed was safe and simple.  I have never been so wrong in my life.

~o~

When I come to I am handcuffed to a hospital bed.  My entire body feels like it has been run over by a herd of angry doctors, and I note that there are casts on three of my limbs, and it feels as if a bandage may be wrapped around my skull.  There is a nurse writing something on a chart and a cop by the door.   The cop speaks into his walkie-talkie and the nurse asks me a few questions about how I am feeling before leaving.  Not long after a man, tall with silver hair, stalks in and flashes his badge.  DI something or other.  He tells me that I am being charged on two counts of kidnapping, two accounts of aggravated assault, one count of accessory to attempted rape and one count of attempted murder.  I am not surprised at the sigh of relief that leaves my mouth.  Holmes hadn’t died from his injuries.  

I had seen what just hurting Sherlock Holmes had turned John Watson into.  I don’t think I ever want to experience what he would become should someone actually succeed in killing the man.


End file.
